


The Woodland Woman and the Witcher

by BathshebasBigToe



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:27:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29775486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BathshebasBigToe/pseuds/BathshebasBigToe
Summary: Lambert encounters a woman in the woods.
Relationships: Lambert (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

She unleashed her locks from the tight braided crown, sweat trickling off them. Sweat didn’t tend to bother her, but she still nevertheless swiped it away. The peasant outfit she wore, not a dress but a man’s attire, consisted of brown doe breeches, a beige linen shirt, a worn leather vest, and a a lightly padded leather coat, which she had conveniently tied around her waist after enduring the summer heat for hours. 

Placing her bow and now empty quiver on the table, she trotted outside her cottage to fetch her fresh carcasses from her horse. Spoon, her ever faithful stallion, snorted at his owner’s arrival, excited even after being apart for only a few moments. The woman stroked her horses snout,

“That’s my good boy, you did well today.” She pulled a carrot out of her pocket, rewarding his good behavior. He munched with satisfaction. Her previous hunts proved quite difficult at the expense of his skittishness. Now, he’d finally realized that a simple rabbit was no threat, especially to his master. It was the occasional nekker ambush that would take some getting used to, though. Oh, how she loathed those hideous, deformed monsters. They had no place in the forest. 

After tending to her horse, she moved on to the hunts of the day: three rabbits, one deer, and four pheasants, all expertly tethered onto the back of her horse. 

“Thank you for nourishing me, creatures of the wood.” She whispered as she untied each animal. 

After bringing the smaller hunts of the day, rabbits and pheasants, she tended to the large deer. Even though it was large, she could tell he was quite young. She felt a twang of guilt for killing such a young creature, but her mortal body was still hungry. Hopefully the animal would understand that at least. Huffing, she pushed the deer off her horse onto a leather mat and dragged it to her meat shed. 

She estimated that she had finished her hunt around 5 PM, and by the time she had finished butchering every animal it was around 7. She removed the bloody apron and tossed it in the grass. Though the temperature had only slightly dropped, the sweat collecting on her skin made it cool and refreshing. 

“Need to wash off,” she hummed to herself in a sing-song way. She truly had built her cozy little cottage in the perfect spot, since there was a teeny tiny pond right next to it. Enjoying the cool breeze, she sauntered down the grassy hill. Picking a nice spot to sit next to a tall tree, she took her boots off, fighting against the suction of heat and sweat. She hummed a little tune as she removed the rest of her clothing, placing it on a low hanging branch. Leaning against the tree for a moment, she stretched her aching back. 

The water was cool, but not at all frigid. After testing the temperature with her bloodied hand, she stepped in, sighing at the pleasantness. She closed her tired eyes, held her breath, and sunk under the surface. She remained there for a moment, testing how long she could hold her breath before it started to hurt. When her chest started burning, she burst through the surface, gasping for air. That always a fun little game of hers to play. Though it was incredibly juvenile and stupid to her, and she’d never admit it to Spoon, she wished someone were there to play with her. 

Nearly falling asleep on his horse’s neck, Lambert snapped up, alert, when he opened his eyes to see he was only a few feet away from colliding with the ground. The setting sun in the distance meant he would either set up camp, find a town, or an abandoned building, and though those were exciting, they were rare. Lambert set his hopes on a nice, secluded, flat area with hopefully no unwanted visitors, man or beast. 

After riding for around an hour, he spotted a skinny plume of smoke rising from the treeline. He rolled his eyes and scoffed at the thought of having to interact with people, but he was tired and his stomach was growling for warm food. He kicked his horse into a steady trot towards the smoke. 

Though Lambert would never admit this sort of thing, the sight he saw nearly took his breath away. From following the smoke, which at this point smelled divine, was one of the most beautiful scenes in nature he had ever seen: a small stone hut, though simple, was expertly crafted with each stone fitting perfectly together in a cohesive structure, fit with a thatch roof. The hill was the greenest, lushest grass he’d ever seen, with flowers of every sort littering it. Even in the moonlight, everything seemed to glitter with sheer beauty. He wondered what it was like with the sun shining.

Out of the corner of his eye, a lonely stag nibbled on the perfect grass. As he surveyed the scenery, he felt incredibly dull. He’d never paid mind to nature like this before, instead he’d always found a reason to complain about it. He furrowed his brow at the strange emotion he felt. Weird, he thought. A very slight uneasiness took over. Why is everything so damn perfect?

He turned his attention away from the stag, guessing whoever lives in this ethereal cottage must have warm, filling food. Lambert’s eyes locked with the cottage, he lowered himself from his horse warily, almost afraid that the grass would somehow come alive. Hand not leaving the hilt of his dagger, he approached the stone cottage, carefully up the hill. 

“This is pathetic,” he mumbled, “probably just some old hag who lives here.” When he reached the front door, eyeing the small peep hole in the center, he knocked faintly with his knuckle. When nobody answered, he knocked again, this time with his fist and a bit more presto. 

He scoffed, “I swear... Anyone home?” He shouted, peering through the peep hole. 

“Hmmm,” he hummed, noting the coziness of the interior. An embroidered red rug, detailing a scene of a group of hunters chasing a wolf, sprawled across the floor. Candles sat on every flat surface, window sills and tables alike. The cottage seeming incredibly cozy to Lambert at this point almost invited him inside when a waft of that delicious smoke passed through the peep hole. 

Lambert wasn’t afraid to enter, he was fairly certain that whoever lived on a plot of land like this wasn’t exactly the pugnacious type. However, he was slightly concerned about his reputation; nobody wants to hire a mutant home invader to kill their local beast. Lambert sighed, looking at the night sky. Wanting to save what little bit of honor he had left, he made one last bang on the door, hard, with his fist. The weak door couldn’t withstand the force of the witcher and flung open at his fist.

“Oops,” Lambert mused quietly to himself. He strode inside getting a good look of the place. It was the definition of homey, enough to make even the seasoned warrior want to cuddle up on a feather cot. 

Now completely settled in with the fact that nobody was home, Lambert lugged off his gear and swords and set it on a cushioned wicker chair by the fire. Yet again inhaling the delicious smell of cooking meat, he slid off his armored coat and hung it on a hook by the door. Before he walked away, Lambert noticed an elaborate spoon next to the hook. He let out a chuckle when he noticed the carving on the handle. It looked to be a gnarled root of some sorts.

When he took a step back to see what was cooking in the little kitchen, he noticed it: decadent wooden spoons, each with their own little designs, lined the walls of the cottage. 

“What the hell is this?” He whispered to no one in particular, a small grin forming on his face. 

The kitchen had the best spoons, in his opinion. One specific one caught his eye, however. He walked towards the fireplace with the kettle producing that delicious smell. Above it, on display on the mantle, was a large spoon, probably for stew he assumed, and featured a detailed wolf on the handle. It almost reminded Lambert of Kaer Morhen’s wolf. He ran his finger along the delicately carved wood, admiring the craftsmanship- something he hardly ever cared for. 

“This hermit must have some serious time on his hands...” he grumbled, kneeling to discover the contents of the kettle. Inside looked to be venison stew, various veggies, and with maybe a few more different meats. He looked warily to the door again to be sure he was alone. 

The coast was clear. “All for me.” He chuckled. He found a bowl and ladled some of the stew into it, his stomach growling for it the whole time. He reached for a lone spoon on the counter, one that wasn’t decorated, and took a bite. The taste of good, warm food after days of sweaty traveling and meager rations made him quite the happy witcher. 

As he munched on the stew, Lambert became a bit uneasy. If the candles were still lit, assuming not by some magical force, that meant the owner probably wasn’t too far away. Not wanting to get caught trespassing, he walked outside and decided to walk around the property. Perhaps to introduce himself, or maybe just explore. Lambert would decide along the way. 

Lambert lazily sauntered around the hillside, nursing himself with spoonfuls of stew. 

“Lovely.” he remarked sarcastically at an herb garden built against the house. It smelled good, though. He walked a bit further down the hill to find a small shack. An overwhelming smell of blood and animal innards awoke his witcher senses. A butcher shed, he noted. A mere poke of his finger opened the shed door. Inside was filled with various cuts of meat: venison, rabbit haunches, pheasant breasts, and what looked to be some mice. This person was clearly skilled in butchering, and very resourceful as well. He stepped back to see a tanning rack with what looked to be a bear pelt. While running his hand along the course fur, Lambert whistled. Someone would surely pay a fine amount for this pelt, he thought. 

Still slowly finishing his stew, he walked away from the shed, following the faint sound of moving water. In the not so far away distance he could see the sparkle of moonlight against what he deemed a small pond. Next to the pond, blocking the moon, was a large, lush tree. Curious Lambert waltzed toward it, bowl and spoon still in hand. 

She scrubbed her head, not violently, but not gently either, being sure to get all of the grime out. If she went to bed with twigs and sweat all clumped in her hair, she would not fall asleep. With one final splash of cool water to the face, she made her way to the muddy shore, but stopped when she heard footsteps in the distance.

“I hear you, creature.” she announced, not turning around. No sound in response. She turned around to see a succubus staring at her with shiny grey eyes. 

She giggled. “I don’t bite. Goat? No, no, I’m joking.” The succubus remained still and quiet. She could smell the creature’s fear. “Go pick me some cherries from that tree, succubus.” She ordered, but in a tone that wasn’t at all harsh. The succubus obliged without question and trotted over to the full tree and picked a few cherries for the lady. Trotting back to the side of the pond the woman soaked in, her hands were filled with the succulent berries.

She smiled warmly when the succubus dropped cherries into her hand.  
“Thank you.” She gave the hybrid creature a few cherries from her own hand.

Lambert watched the whole scene; some beautiful woman with warm brown hair, cut mid neck and with a slight curl to it, ample breasts, and a healthy and strong physique, sharing berries with a succubus. He saw no real threat, but reached for his sword nevertheless. His hand came back empty once he realized he left all his gear in the house. Perhaps nearly two days without a nights rest was starting to cut into his groove, he pondered.

Trying not to focus too much on the fact that both of them were completely nude, and beautiful at that- though he preferred the human woman; Lambert wasn’t too keen on the horns and hooves- Lambert watched intently on any signs of danger. Although he had dropped off most of his gear, he still had a few bombs and oils in his belt, and his knife as well. Placing the bowl and spoon in the damp moss, he leaned against the tree, careful to stay out of sight. 

He sat for what seemed hours, but in reality was around twenty minutes. They just talked, chatted, about various herbs and plants. He was stunned, to say the least. Lambert knew of the ways of a succubus; they didn’t always shy away from entrancing a woman. This woman, however, wasn’t phased by the succubus’s charms. In fact, the succubus didn’t even attempt it’s usual acts. They instead indulged in friendly conversation, something Lambert would hear between old women at various villages during his travels. They simply sat, talked, and ate cherries. "What the fuck?" he whispered.

The succubus soon left, satisfied with conversation and sweet berries, and the woman decided it was time to get out the pond. Her skin was pruned and she longed for her warm bed and stew. Her warm smile not leaving her face, she swirled around to the direction of the tree where her clothes hang. 

She froze.

How long had that man been there?

She cursed herself for not being assertive enough. He was probably watching her bathe the whole time, probably doing unimaginable things with himself. But then again, perhaps he’s lost? Thoughts raced through her mortal mind as she pondered what to do. Animals she could handle, but people were sometimes a challenge. 

She wasn’t nervous, but annoyed that she let her guard down. After spending a few moments with the water up to her nose and staring at the man who was fast asleep against her tree, she smirked at the thought of a funny idea. She brushed it aside at first, but decided it would be funny anyways.

She swam over to where her and the succubus had spit out their cherry pits and grabbed a few. She swam back to where she had a decent shot, and, chucked one right at his head. Her pervert stirred in his slumber, but didn’t wake.

“Oh, poor baby.” She cooed sardonically. With a bit more gusto, she threw another one. She grinned ear to ear at the sight of it hitting him directly on the nose. This time, his eyes shot wide open.


	2. The Woman's Perspective

I quite enjoyed throwing the cherry pits at him. How heavy were this man’s balls, that he would think it’s okay to watch me, hell, any woman for that matter, bathe. As much fun as it was to watch him wake with a start, I was still disgusted. 

“Wake up, you loaf!” I shouted, throwing my last one at his chest. He seemed a tad annoyed, but not at all bewildered by my attitude. I was not one to tolerate trespassers, and he would soon know that.

“Come on, up you go,” I ordered, swimming my way towards him. 

“Okay, okay. You caught me lady,” he confessed while yawning, “you can stop throwing those things at me now- what even are these, cherry pits?” He asked, picking one off his shirt.

“Yes they are, and they came from my cherry tree. The one you’ve been sleeping on and watching me from behind.” I proclaimed this at I stepped out of the water, a bit embarrassed that I was nude in front of a strange man. I brushed that aside though, since I’d rather make him uncomfortable than show my own unease. 

He was still sitting on the mossy floor. I towered over him, dripping water on him. Though I felt tall now, I could tell he would be about a head taller when he stood. He stared at me with yellow eyes. 

“Why are you here? Is that my stew?”

He stretched he back out against my tree, letting out a slight groan at the cracking sensation. “Well, what’s left of it at least,” he chuckled, “thanks by the way.” I rolled my eyes as he rose and handed me the bowl and spoon. His cat eyes scanned my nude figure. 

“Aren’t you going to... you know? Clothe yourself?” he asked, almost as if insisting me to cover up. He even pointed at my clothes hanging on the branch. 

“I suppose you have a point,” I began, walking over to the branch, “but, as I dress myself, tell me why I found you sitting there under my tree.” I slipped on my over-shirt as I waited for a response. 

“Well, since you’re quite possibly the most forthright woman I’ve ever met I guess you probably know what I am already. I know this looks bad, hell, really really bad, but I can explain.” I noticed the cutting tone of his voice. Every word he spoke was like a pen with not enough ink hitting paper; harsh and almost broken, I might say. Now, I know nothing about this man but the way his witcher eyes burned through me as I dressed told me enough. 

“Then do it.” I stated, turning around to pull up my trousers. 

“I noticed you talking with a succubus. That’s a bit strange, don’t you think?” He asked, his animated brows furrowed, and his smirk never faltering. 

“It’s a bit strange to watch a vulnerable woman bathe too, don’t you think?” I interjected, turning back around to grab my boots. “And, I might add, although not strange, very rude to break into someone’s house, and take their food as well.” I kept my gaze with his as I spoke. He rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, listen, lady. I’ve been on the rode for like, what, four days now? No food. No sleep.”

“No bath either?” I questioned, though I already knew the answer. 

“You better believe it, princess.” 

Now fully clothed, I stood for a moment staring at him. His arms folded sternly and his mouth pursed itself into a slight smirk. With his eyebrows ever so slightly raised, as if to say “- and what are you gonna do about it huh?” or something like that. I believed that this witcher meant no harm, it was his job after all to kill creatures like succubi, but he still entered my home and ate my stew without asking. 

“Well?” He interrupted the silent tension between us, raising one of his arms in the air. 

“I want an apology.” I stated. This man, although I felt sympathy for him, wasn’t just going to get away with stealing from me.

He scoffed at my request. Typical. 

“Okay? I’m sorry for making sure that succubus didn’t fuck your brains out.” he stated in defense. I let out a light laugh in response, leading to a confused look on his face.

“No, no. Not that. Apologize for going into my home and eating my dinner. Understand?” I clarified, stepping closer. I furthered my point by poking my finger into his chest. 

He stared at me for a moment, with an expression I couldn’t quite place. Was he confused or amused? He rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Fine. I’m sorry,” he conceded, making sure to elongate each syllable as he said this, which struck a nerve in me. “But, to be fair, I thought nobody was home.” He said in defense, yet again. 

“I can just tell you’re impossible. But, now that that’s over with, did you want to stay the night? Since you so bravely watched over me while the monstrous succubus was conspiring to suck me dry.”

His eyes widened at my profanity, but still amused nonetheless. “I was just getting to that, actually. How much for rent?” 

I giggled, “Oh no, no. I don’t want money. Say, how long have you been in these woods?” I questioned, starting to walk back up the hill. The man followed suit. 

He shrugged. “I’ve been doing odd jobs around these woods for maybe two weeks. Didn’t get nearly enough crowns for them, though.” The witcher and I walked around my cottage to the front. “Bunch of cheap asses,” he mumbled under his breath. I chuckled.

“Money, money, money. Such a funny thing, isn’t it?” I remarked, getting a side glance from him in response as he opened the door for me. “What a gentleman you are, uh, I don’t believe I ever got your name, witcher.”

“I don’t think I got yours, witch.” He countered, bravely I might add. I laughed out loud at that. 

“Oh, that’s rich,” I said between chuckles, “come sit down. I’ll make you some tea.”

He took a seat in one of my chairs, reclining in it so that the front legs ever so slightly left the ground. His arms still sternly crossed over his chest, he gave me a muddled look. “What? You’re not? I mean, herb garden, bathing nude in the lake, talking to succubi, not getting scared of a witcher; how could you not be?” 

“Oh, I’m not offended. I just thought that was a bold claim, was all.” I reassured, sprinkling some mint leaves into kettle I had put over the fire. 

“So I’m not wrong then, am I? I mean, look at this place,” he gestured to all the walls in my house, “what the fuck is with all of the spoons?” he questioned. His gaze yet again followed me as I walked towards his gear, conveniently scattered across my furniture.

“This is a beautiful sword. Silver?” I asked, tracing my finger along the hilt.

“Yes, but you still haven’t answered my questions. Because, now I’m very curious, little lady.”

I held both my hands up in surrender, gesturing for him to slow down with the questions. “Okay, okay. I’ll pour the tea first, then I’ll answer your questions, okay?” I grabbed a small blanket I knitted a while back off one of my chairs and wrapped it around my shoulders to stop the cold water from dripping off my hair. 

I placed two pewter mugs on the table and filled them with the hot liquid. He looked at me, the mug, me again, then lifted it to his lips. I smiled as he took a sip.

“Woop-dee-doo, it’s peppermint tea. Delicious.” He jabbed. I rolled my eyes and took a sip myself. I, for one, loved peppermint tea.

“My name is Devan and I am not a witch, sorceress, herbalist, or anything else of that sort.” I raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for a response while I took another long sip of my tea. 

“I find that very hard to believe, woman, but we’ll move on from that for now. Lambert. My name is Lambert.” He took a sip and placed his mug on the table with more force than before. Annoyed with my stalling, I’m sure. It’s not everyday I meet someone out here in the woods, though. I simply want to talk for a bit before he dozes for the next twenty hours in my spare bed. 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you Lambert the witcher.” I gave him a genuine smile. “I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

He simpered at that, “Well, personally, I don’t thinking meeting a gorgeous woman while she’s nude is exactly “getting off on the wrong foot”, but that’s just me.”

I glared at him, waiting for that smug sneer plastered on his face to subside. “Lambert, I know I seemed rude at first. I would open my home to any weary traveler, but it was my own fault for being idle. I am sorry,” he looked at me, bewildered by my words, “though I think it was rude to just let yourself in and eat my food, I know you’re exhausted and need rest.”

He raised the mug up all the way, slurping down the rest of it, and clanked it down on the table. Completely ignoring my apology, he responded, “I’m sorry I ate your precious stew and used your precious utensils, but I would like to know where exactly it is I’m sleeping, Devan.”

Either he was too exhausted to question why I wasn’t asking for rent, or perhaps just too vain to even bring it up, but I still pushed on with our strange conversation. 

“I have a small spare room upstairs. It’s yours for as long as you need it,” his brows raised high in response to that, “however, if you do stay, I want your help with local beasts.”

“Sounds good to me.” Lambert replied, locking his tawny eyes with mine.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a bit different than anything I've written before. That's not really saying much since I don't have like any works, but I digress. I came up with this concept a while back and recently decided it's time to start workin' on it.  
> It's important to note that I'm not totally well versed in the Witcher universe quite yet. I've played a lot of the game, but not enough to know every detail, monster, and character to a T. I've also seen all of the show and plan on reading the books soon too, so hopefully this isn't too off kilter from the original works.  
> Hope you enjoy!


End file.
